The Skull Throne

CHAPTER 21 THE WEED GATHERER 333 AR WINTER

Amanvah sipped her tea, watching Araine and Leesha coolly.

“Ask,” she said at last.

“Ask what, dear?” Araine asked.

Amanvah set down her cup and saucer. “Even if the dice had not told me your question, it is obvious, given the gossip in your court.”

Araine did not rise to the bait. “Do enlighten us.”

“You want to know if I will use the alagai hora to determine the cause of the duke’s inability to father, and if I can cure him with hora magic.”

Araine stared at her for a long time. “Will you? Can you?”

Amanvah smiled. “I have already determined the problem, and yes, I could cure it.”

“But you won’t,” Araine guessed.

“Would you, in my place?” Amanvah asked.

“Why tell us to ask, if you have no intention of helping?” Leesha asked. “Why cast your dice at all?”

“Even dama’ting cannot resist a mystery,” Amanvah said. “And I have helped you, by telling you it is possible. The rest you will have to learn for yourselves. I am here as Rojer’s Jiwah Ka, not a spy … or a ginjaz.”

“Ginjaz?” Leesha asked.

“Turncoat.” Araine’s face had darkened. “You’re a long way from home, Princess. We may yet convince you.”

Amanvah shook her head. “Nothing you can offer will change my mind, nor torture pull from my lips what I do not wish you to know. Solve your own problems.”

“If we fail to, you may be handing Angiers to Duke Euchor,” Leesha said. “He’d declare himself king, and make war upon your people soon after.”

Amanvah shrugged. “You seek that as well, or you are a coward. It does not matter. My father is the Deliverer. When he returns to claim your people, they will bow to him. I have no interest in your politicking in the meantime.”

“And if your father does not return?” Araine asked in Krasian. “If the Warded Man killed him in Domin Sharum?”

“The dice would have told me if my father was dead,” Amanvah said. “But if it were so, then the Par’chin is the Deliverer, and your people will be claimed all the same.”

“You don’t know Arlen at all, if you think that,” Leesha said. “He has no interest in thrones.”

“So long as your spears are pledged to him in the night,” Amanvah said. “As with my father. But deny this, as the Andrah and Duke of Rizon did, and the Deliverer will take them from you.”

“You’ll forgive me,” Araine said, “if I need more convincing than that before I hand over my duchy to an invading army, or a farm boy from a hamlet the size of my sitting room.”

Amanvah bowed. “It is not my place to convince you, Duchess. It is inevera.”

“Is that Everam’s will, or your mother’s?” Araine asked mildly.

Amanvah gave a gentle shrug of her silk-clad shoulders. “They are one and the same.”

Araine nodded. “Thank you for your candor, Princess, and for your help, such as it was. Will you excuse us, now? I wish to speak to Mistress Leesha in private.”

“Of course,” Amanvah said, her tone and bearing making it seem her own idea to leave as she rose and glided from the room.

Wonda peeked her head in as the woman left. “Need anythin’?”

“All is well, Wonda, thank you,” Araine said before Leesha could speak. “Please see we are not disturbed.”

“Ay, Mum.” Wonda seemed to nod with her whole body as she backed out and closed the door.

“Insufferable woman,” Araine muttered.

“Wonda?” Leesha asked.

Araine waved in irritation. “Of course not. The sand witch.”

Leesha dipped a biscuit in her tea. “You don’t know the half.”

“Can we trust her?” Araine asked.

“Who can say?” Leesha lifted the biscuit, but she had soaked it too long and the end broke off in the cup. “This is the same woman who slipped blackleaf into my tea on her mother’s orders.”

Araine raised an eyebrow at that. “No wonder you’ve a distaste for weeds. So she’s more interested in politicking than she claims.”

“She’s more than she claims,” Leesha agreed, “though she’s proven trustworthy enough since marrying Rojer. I don’t think she’s lying now, but neither do I think we have the whole truth. She may have hinted us toward a cure because the dice tell her it will weaken the North to keep the duchies divided. Or hidden the cause of Rhinebeck’s problem because Euchor will overreach and bring civil war to Thesa even as the Krasians press north.”

Araine squeezed lemon into her tea, though it seemed her mouth could wrinkle no farther than it already had. “I don’t suppose you can make a set of these dice yourself?”

Leesha shook her head. “Even if we stole a proper set, I haven’t a clue how to read them. It takes years of study, as I understand it, and is more art than science.”

Araine sighed. “Then for all our sakes, I hope you can succeed where every other Gatherer in my employ has failed. It’s pointless to guess at prophecies, even if I believed in such things.”

Leesha awoke with a start at the knocking. Her face was numb, and as she rubbed it she could feel the imprint of the book she had fallen asleep on. There was drool on the pages.

What time was it? The room was dark save for the glow of the chemical lamp on her table, illuminating the pile of books of old world medicine she had been studying. Wonda had turned down the lamps when she retired.

The knocking came again.

Leesha cinched her dressing gown tightly as she went to the door, but she had put on weight in recent months, and it strained in the front. She clutched the top in one hand to keep it closed.

Who could it be? She thought to call for Wonda, but they were in the center of the palace, with guards everywhere. If she wasn’t safe here, she wasn’t safe anywhere.

But her free hand slipped into her pocket, clutching her hora wand as she let go her gown to open the door.

Rojer stood there, and looking haggard. “We need to talk.”

Leesha relaxed instinctively, but Rojer had a look about him that filled her with dread. What was he doing back so soon? Everyone had expected the duke and his entourage to be away in the hunting lodge a week at least, but they had been gone but a single night.

“Is everything all right?” Leesha felt her chest constrict. “Is Thamos …”

“He’s fine,” Rojer said. “He led the party to bring down a rock demon last night. Hunting rockbirds and boar had little allure after that, and I think everyone wanted to be back in the city to ponder what they saw.”

Leesha breathed out her sudden panic. Thamos had sworn not to wed her with another man’s child in her belly, but with Araine’s support, she had begun to hope once more. If anything happened to him …

“Mistress Leesha?” Wonda was in the doorway to her chambers, rubbing sleep from her face. The knife in her hand was the size of Leesha’s forearm. “Heard voices. You okay?”

“Fine, Wonda,” Leesha said. “It’s only Rojer. Go back to bed.”

The woman nodded, her shoulders drooping as she turned to stumble back to her pillow.

Leesha opened the door to admit Rojer, and he walked in a little too swiftly, jerking his head this way and that as his eyes searched the room. “Is anyone else here?”

“Of course not,” Leesha said. “Who else …”

Rojer looked decidedly uneasy. “Thamos hasn’t been to see you?”

“No,” Leesha said. “Why? You’re scaring me, Rojer. What’s happened?”

Rojer shook his head. His voice was so low she could barely hear. “Ears everywhere.”

Leesha frowned, but she went to the jewelry box where she kept her hora, opening small drawers to take the appropriate bones. These she arranged in a circle around two chairs. She slipped her warded spectacles on, making sure the wards linked and the circle activated.

“There.” She picked up the servant’s bell and moved to the circle, reaching her arm past the wards and ringing the bell vigorously. She saw the clapper strike, felt the vibration, but neither she nor Rojer heard a sound.

She took a seat, waiting for Rojer to join her. “Not a sound will pass through the circle. We can scream at the top of our lungs, and Wonda will keep snoring twenty feet away. Now what’s so secret you couldn’t even whisper it in an empty room?”

Rojer blew out a breath. “I think Rhinebeck and his brothers tried to kill Thamos last night.”

Leesha blinked. “You think?”

“It was a … passive attempt.” Rojer quickly related how the duke’s group had held their fire when the battle seemed to be going against Thamos, only shooting when victory seemed assured. “They didn’t try to hurt him themselves, but from where I stood, they seemed content to let the demons do the job for them.”

“There must be some other explanation,” Leesha said. “Perhaps there was a problem with their weapons.”

“All of them?” Rojer asked. “At the same time?”

Leesha huffed. It did seem unlikely. “But he’s their brother, and far removed from the throne. Why would they want him dead?”

“Not so far as all that,” Rojer said. “The royal families of Angiers are still stung from Rhinebeck the First’s coup two generations ago. If the duke dies without an heir, neither Mickael nor Pether will hold the throne without bloodshed, especially with the Milnese buying up allies throughout the city.”

“And you think it will be different for Thamos?” Leesha asked.

“Thamos has his own army,” Rojer noted. “One already bigger and better trained than his elder brother’s. At the rate the Hollow’s growing, it may soon be a match for Angiers and Miln combined. And Thamos is a hero, with more than one song to his name. Rhinebeck was too petty to even let his brother claim his own rockbird kill. How do you think he felt when Thamos shamed him in front of the other men?”

Leesha felt a stab of pain and looked down. She kept her nails short so they would not interfere in her work, but they were still enough to dig into her skin when she clenched her fists tightly enough. She forced herself to relax. “Have you spoken of this to anyone else?”

Rojer shook his head. “Who would I tell? I don’t think Thamos would believe me even if I told him, and Gared …”

“Would do something stupid,” Leesha agreed.

“There’s already been stupid to spare,” Rojer said. “I haven’t told you all.”

“Those idiots!” Araine clenched her fists, pacing with the strength and speed of a much younger woman.

“What are you going to do?” Leesha asked, when the old woman final slowed.

“What can I do?” Araine demanded. “I have no evidence but your Jongleur’s word, and Rhinebeck is duke. Once he sets his mind on something he can be stubborn as a rock demon, and I don’t have the power to overrule him.”

“But you’re his mother,” Leesha said. “Can’t you …”

Araine raised an eyebrow. “Use my magic mother powers? How often do you listen to yours?”

“Not often,” Leesha admitted. “And I usually come to regret it when I do. But Thamos is your son, too. Can you not beseech—”

“Believe me, girl,” Araine cut her off, “I’m not above playing every guilt and wile in my considerable repertoire to get my sons to alter course, but this … this is pride, and no man lets that go without a spear at his throat.”

She began to pace again, but it was slow, stately. She reached up, stroking her wrinkled chin. “He probably thinks himself quite clever. If Thamos is killed, he has one less rival. If Thamos succeeds and makes contact with the Laktonians, he can take credit for the whole thing.” She snorted. “It’s the closest Rhinebeck’s ever come to an attempt at espionage.”

She turned to look at Leesha, and smiled. “But just because we can’t stop it doesn’t mean we can’t turn it against him.”

“Oh?” Leesha asked.

“Rhiney and the others have never attempted espionage because they’ve never needed to. Janson gives them information, and they’ve never once asked where it comes from.”

Leesha felt a smile tug at the corner of her mouth. “You have contacts in Lakton?”

“I have contacts everywhere,” Araine said. “The dockmistress of Docktown was a friend of mine, did you know? Your Ahmann Jardir’s eldest son tried to force her to marry him when they took the city.”

“Tried?” Leesha asked.

Araine chuckled. “She put his eye out with the quill from the marriage contract, they say.” Her face went cold. “When he was finished with her, they say the lump of meat that was left barely looked human.”

Leesha remembered Jayan. Remembered the savage gleam in his eyes. She wanted to disbelieve, but it was all too plausible.

“We need the Krasians out of Docktown,” Araine said, “if we’re to take back the duchy and press them back to Rizon.”

“Everam’s Bounty,” Leesha said. “I’ve seen those lands, Duchess. The Krasians are entrenched. It will never be Rizon again.”

“Don’t be so sure of that,” Araine said. “I’ve been funding Rizonan rebels for months, and they’ve begun quite a bit of mischief. The Krasians in Lakton will be looking over their shoulders as their ‘safe’ lands burn. They won’t see us coming.”

“So Thamos has a chance?” Leesha asked.

“I won’t lie and say it’s a safe path, girl,” Araine said. “I know you love him, but he’s my son, and the only one worth a damn. He’ll be in danger the entire time, but I’ll see he has every advantage I can.”

“So now what?” Leesha asked.

“Now,” Araine said, “you get back to work curing my eldest.”

“You can’t possibly expect me to—” Leesha began.

“I can and you will!” Araine snapped. “Our circumstances with Miln have not changed. Even if Thamos comes back alive and well, he will always be in danger so long as the ivy throne has no heir.”

She waved a hand. “Let my sons bicker and plot. If we can unite with Lakton and force Euchor into the pact, the ivy and metal thrones won’t be worth a klat. The Hollow will be the new capital of Thesa, and Thamos …

“Why, Thamos could be king.”

Leesha was distracted throughout dinner. It was her first in Jizell’s hospit for quite some time, but the place still felt like home. Jizell and her apprentices had been fixtures about the Hollow the last weeks, and the others, even Sikvah, seemed similarly at ease.

“Delicious, as always,” Rojer thanked Mistress Jizell. “Every man in Angiers laments he could not take you to wife.”

“A wise man never marries an Herb Gatherer,” Jizell replied, winking. “There’s no telling what she’ll put in his tea, eh?”

Amanvah laughed at that, and Rojer smiled. “That’s what Mistress Jessa used to say.”

Jizell’s face went sour. “Both got it from Bruna, if not much else.”

“I’m getting tired of this,” Rojer said. “Mistress Jessa was never anything but good to me, and if you’re going to talk ill of her, I want to know why.”

“So do I,” Leesha said.

“She’s a Weed Gatherer,” Jizell said. “What more is there to say?”

“Ay, what of it?” Rojer snapped. “I don’t see the ripping difference. You both threaten to drug my tea, and mean it.”

“Ay, an Herb Gatherer will use her skill to bully someone that needs bullying,” Jizell said. “But their primary purpose is to heal and help. Weed Gatherers are the other way around.”

“Not to mention they’re all whores,” Vika said.

“Vika!” Leesha snapped.

Vika stiffened, but she did not back down. “Apologies, Mistress Leesha, but it’s honest word. Almost every brothel in the city is run by a Weed Gatherer. Usually apothecary shops with rooms upstairs where they sell more than cures.”

“Most of them were apprentices of Mistress Jessa at one time or another,” Jizell said, “and she takes a cut. Richest woman in the city short of the Duchess Mum, but it’s dirty money, earned off the marriages they destroy.”

Kadie brought the tea, and Jizell paused to add honey, stirring thoughtfully. “Bruna had already taken me on as apprentice and did not want another, but Duchess Araine insisted she take Jessa as well. The girl was gifted, but less interested in healing than aphrodisiacs and poison. Little did we know Araine was grooming her to run a private brothel for her sons. A way for them to remain under her control even when they were out being men.”

“It is why the dama’ting created the jiwah’Sharum,” Amanvah noted, “though my people honor such women, and accept the children they bear.”

“Well not here,” Jizell said. “Men can’t be expected to keep to their wives when there’s a brothel in every part of town. You can blame the drunk for pissing on your doorstep, but it’s the bartender who put the drink in their hand.”

“And that’s why Bruna cast her out?” Leesha asked.

Jizell shook her head. “She wanted the recipe for liquid demonfire. When Bruna refused to teach it to her, she tried to steal it.”

Leesha’s eyes widened. Any Gatherer worth the name knew something of the secrets of fire, but Bruna had claimed to be the last to know how to create that infernal brew. The old woman had kept it close for more than a hundred years, never teaching it to her apprentices. It was only when she felt the knowledge might be lost forever that she decided to teach it to Leesha.

“Why did you never tell me any of this before?” Leesha asked.

“Because it didn’t concern you,” Jizell said. “But now, if you have to deal with that lying witch …”

“I think it’s time I met Mistress Jessa,” Leesha said.

“We can go now, if you like,” Rojer said. “Set this whole thing to rest.”

“Isn’t it a bit late?” Leesha asked. “The sun is long set.”

Rojer laughed. “They’re only just stirring now, and expecting guests until the dawn.”

Leesha turned to him. “You mean to take us to the brothel?”

Rojer shrugged. “Of course.”

“Can’t we just meet at her home?” Leesha asked.

“That is her home,” Rojer said.

“Now just a minute!” Gared said. “Can’t be taking women to a place like that!”

“Why not?” Rojer asked. “It’s full of women anyway.”

Gared blushed, balling one of his giant fists. “Ent taking Leesha to some … some …”

“Gared Cutter!” Leesha snapped. “You may be a baron now, but I won’t have you telling me where I can and can’t go!”

Gared looked at her in surprise. “I was just …”

“I know what you were doing,” Leesha cut in. “Your heart’s in the right place, but your mouth isn’t. I’ll go where I please, and that goes for Wonda, too.”

“This should be fun,” Kendall said. “I know a dozen songs about Angierian whorehouses, but I never thought I’d get to see one.”

“And you shan’t. A heasah pillow house is no place for Jiwah Sen,” Amanvah glanced at Coliv, “or Sharum.”

“Ay, Wonda gets to go!” Kendall started, but Sikvah hissed at her, and she fell back with a huff, crossing her arms.

Amanvah turned to Rojer. “But you would think your Jiwah Ka a fool, husband, if you think I will let you enter such a place without me.”

To Leesha’s surprise, Rojer bowed to his wife. “Of course. Please know that I was a child in my time there, and a child only. It was never a place of passion for me.”

Amanvah nodded. “And it never shall be.”

“Dama’ting, I must …” Coliv began.

“You must do as you are told, Sharum.” Amanvah’s voice was cold. “I have cast the alagai hora. I am in no danger this night.” The Watcher did not protest further.

“No carriages,” Rojer said, as they exited Jizell’s hospit from the rear entrance.

Leesha looked at him curiously. “Why not? There’s no law that says we can’t ride at night.”

“Ay, but none actually do,” Rojer said. “Our passage will be noticed, and we’re going someplace we’ve no business going.”

“I thought you said the brothel was a secret,” Leesha said. “If no one knows it’s there …”

“Then they’ll see Hollower carriages at the doors of Mistress Jessa’s Finishing School for Talented Young Ladies,” Rojer said. “Which will be curiouser still.”

“What’s a finishing school?” Wonda asked.

“A place where young women are taught how to hook rich husbands,” Rojer said.

Indeed, the boardwalk was empty as Leesha, Wonda, Amanvah, and Gared followed Rojer along the twisting streets of Angiers, cutting through alleyways and keeping to the shadows.

Not that there were many places they could be spotted. There were no wardlights, and the streetlamps were few and far between, save in the most affluent neighborhoods.

They moved swiftly in spite of the darkness, seeing more clearly in wardsight than they did in day. All of them wore Cloaks of Unsight save Amanvah, who had stitched the wards in silver into her robes.

“Eerie, how quiet it is,” Wonda noted. “Shops’d still be open in the Hollow this time of night.”

“The Hollow doesn’t have holes in its wardnet big enough to let wind demons in,” Rojer said. “Only ones out on the street tonight are guards, us, and the homeless.”

“Homeless?” Wonda asked. “You mean they put poor folk out at night?”

“More like won’t let them in, but ay,” Rojer said. “I thought it just the way of things, growing up here. Wasn’t till I started playing the hamlets that I saw how evil it was.”

As if on cue, there was a crack and part of the wardnet above flared to life. A wind demon had flown too low, bouncing off the wards. The lines of protection spiderwebbed like lightning through the sky for just an instant, but Leesha could see holes big enough for the demon to fit.

The demon saw them, too. It hovered, great leathern wings flapping powerfully as it recovered from the shock. Then it dove, cutting cleanly through the net and sweeping down through the streets, searching for prey.

Leesha itched to draw her hora wand and destroy it, but if they worried carriages might advertise their presence, a blast of magic would shout it.

Yet neither could the demon be allowed to hunt. “Wonda.”

“Ay, mistress,” Wonda said. She looked around a moment, then set off at a run for a rain barrel by the eave of a building. She leapt, foot barely seeming to touch the edge of the barrel as she used it to leap and catch the lip of the slanted roof, pulling herself up effortlessly and running up the roof as she slipped the bow from her shoulders.

She gave a call, so much like a wind demon’s that the people huddling behind their warded shutters would take no notice. The demon heard and banked hard, coming for her.

Wonda stood steady, arrow pulled back to her ear as the demon approached. It seemed almost upon her when she loosed, warded arrow flaring with magic as it punched through the demon’s chest. It crumpled, falling hard to the boardwalk in front of them.

“Gared,” Leesha said as Wonda made her way back down. “Please make sure it’s dead, and find a trough to leave the body in so it doesn’t start a fire when the sun strikes it.”

“On it,” Gared said.

He went over to the demon, but it didn’t so much as twitch as he yanked out Wonda’s arrow. There was no trough or fountain to be had, so he was forced to hack the demon apart and stuff it in the rain barrel. Wonda went to the pool of ichor in the street, placing her hands in it and shivering as her blackstem wards absorbed the power. The demon’s blood would continue to reek, but it would not burn in the sun.

Wonda looked up, her eyes bright as the night strength filled her. “Want me to keep huntin’, mistress, in case there’s more?”

“I’d feel safer if you stayed with me,” Leesha said. It was true enough, but she also wanted to limit Wonda’s intake of magic until she better understood the effects.

They quickly moved to the inner city, not far from Rhinebeck’s palace. The streets here were brightly lit with lamps and patrolled by city guard, but these were evaded with relative ease.

“We’re practically back at the palace,” Leesha said.

“Of course,” Rojer said. “The brothel is connected to the palace by a series of tunnels, so the Duke and his favored courtiers can have private access, day and night.”

They turned a corner, and there it stood, Mistress Jessa’s Finishing School for Talented Young Ladies. It was a grand building, with two wings around a central tower, three floors aboveground. The wards on the tower and building were strong, Leesha saw, carved deep and lacquered hard, polished to shine. The lampposts along the street were warded as well. If the walls of the city fell, the school would be as safe from corelings as the palace itself.

Rojer went boldly to the door, pulling the silk bell rope. Leesha could only assume it worked—they heard nothing outside. A moment later, the door swung open, revealing a giant of a man. He was not as tall as Gared, but broader, with a bull’s neck that strained the collar of his fine lace shirt and thick arms threatening to tear the seams of his velvet jacket. His face was crooked, with a nose obviously broken more than once. There was a hint of gray in his hair, but it made him only seem more seasoned. A polished baton hung from his belt in easy reach.

“I don’t know you.” It was a simple statement, but the man’s tone made it a threat.

“Don’t you, Jax?” Rojer asked, throwing back his cloak. “I’ve grown some, but I’m still the boy you used to throw so high I could catch the rafters.”

The man blinked. “Rojer?”

Before Rojer could finish nodding, the man gave a whoop and thrust his hands into Rojer’s armpits, swinging him through the air. Gared tensed, but then Rojer laughed, and he relaxed.

“Come in, come in!” Jax said, waving them quickly inside and glancing about before closing the door.

“Caught one of your shows, summer before last,” Jax told Rojer. “Mistress and I hid in the crowd and watched. Had both of us in tears by the end.” There was a choke to the big man’s voice that seemed incompatible with his huge, menacing frame.

“You should have said.” Rojer punched his arm, but if he felt it, the big man did not react.

Jax pointed a finger at him. “And you shouldn’t have waited so long to visit. You really the Warded Man’s fiddle wizard now?”

“Ay.” Rojer nodded to his companions. “I’m here to make introductions for the Hollowers to Mistress Jessa. Is she available?”

“For you?” Jax asked. “Of course. Gotta move quick, though. Getting late. Royals will start arriving any time now.”

He led them two stories down a grand spiral staircase covered in red velvet. There was a hallway at the landing, but Jax ignored it, turning instead to push aside a great double bookshelf. It slid smoothly on a wheeled track, revealing an archway covered in heavy laced curtains.

The shelf slid back into place as they passed through the curtain, opening up into an opulent chamber filled with beautiful women. They lounged on soft couches or in semiprivate curtained chambers, ready for the night’s custom. All were dressed in beautiful gowns, their faces powdered and their hair artfully arranged. The scent of perfume permeated the air.

“Creator,” Gared said. “Think I’ve died and gone to heaven.”

Leesha gave him a dim look, and he dropped his eyes. “And to think it was me you were worried about coming here.”

The center of the room had a ceiling two stories high, but around the periphery was a mezzanine presumably leading to private chambers. Jax led them quickly up a staircase to the balcony and through a curtained arch.

Leesha heard sounds below as they passed through, peeking from the curtain to see Prince Mickael arrive with an entourage of men. Her heart thumped in her chest as she quickly closed the curtain.

“I hope there’s more than one way out of here,” she said as she joined the others waiting as Jax went to fetch his mistress.

“More than you can count,” Rojer said with a wink.

“Little Rojer Halfgrip!” came a call a moment later, and a woman appeared from a door at the end of the hall.

Jessa was of an age with Jizell—in her fifties at least. But where Jizell had put on the weight of years, Jessa’s gown still cinched tight around a tiny waist, and the bosom spilling from the low cut was still smooth and inviting. Her face was painted, but she was beautiful still, with only a few carefully concealed wrinkles to belie her years.

“She reminds me of my mother,” Leesha said, to no one in particular.

“Yuh,” Gared agreed, though from the look in his eyes, he obviously did not think it a bad thing. Leesha wondered if she should send him to wait upstairs. And if he would go if she tried.

Amanvah seemed to be thinking the same thing. She stepped between Gared and the woman as Rojer moved to embrace her.

Jessa tsked as she held him to her bosom. “It’s been over ten years, Rojer. Practically nursed you at my own paps, and you can’t trouble yourself to visit?”

“Don’t think the duke would have approved,” Rojer said. He pulled back, and Leesha saw his eyes were wet. Whatever her feelings toward the Weed Gatherer, it was clear Rojer loved the woman.

“Let me look at you,” she said, lifting his arms wide and taking a step back as if they were in a dance.

She looked him up and down. “You’ve grown into a fine figure of a man. I’ll bet you’ve broken as many hearts as Arrick.”

Rojer backed away, rubbing at the medallion on his chest as he cleared his throat. “Mistress Jessa, may I present my wife, Dama’ting Amanvah asu Ahmann am’Jardir am’Kaji.”

Jessa’s smile was bright as she moved to embrace Amanvah, but the young dama’ting took a step back.

“Eh?” Jessa asked.

“Apologies, mistress,” Amanvah said, “but you are unclean, and may not touch me.”

“Amanvah!” Rojer shouted.

“It’s all right,” Jessa said, holding up a hand to him, but never taking her eyes off Amanvah. “Am I to apologize for my immodesty? Should I cover my bosom and my hair?”

Amanvah waved a hand. “Jiwah’Sharum wear with honor clothing far less modest than yours. I am not offended by your immodesty.”

“Then what is it?” Jessa asked.

“You are the one that brews the tea of pomm leaves that turns your heasah into kha’ting, are you not?” Amanvah asked. “You shame them and weaken your tribe by denying these women the children that come from their unions.”

“Better they not know the fathers of their children?” Jessa asked. “Better they be unwed mothers before their twentieth year? My girls graduate and return to their lives richer and equipped to find proper society husbands and bear children of rank.”

“So they go to their husbands known to man?” Amanvah pressed.

Leesha cleared her throat, a not-so-subtle reminder about Sikvah, who had not been a virgin when she and Rojer were introduced. Amanvah did not acknowledge the sound, but Leesha regretted the move as Jessa smiled in victory.

“Had a bit of a taste yourself, before you found Rojer?” the Weed Gatherer asked.

Amanvah stiffened. Leesha could see the flare of anger in her aura, hot and dangerous, but she held her outer composure. “I am a Bride of Everam, but I went to my husband pure and unknown to mortal man as a Jiwah Ka should. Rojer knew and accepted that his Jiwah Sen had not.”

Rojer stepped forward at the words, reaching out to take Amanvah’s hand. She turned to him sharply, but the tenderness in his eyes surprised her, confusion flowing across the anger in her aura.

Rojer reached his free hand up, gently smoothing a lock of hair back into her headscarf. “I would have accepted you, too, Amanvah vah Ahmann am’Jardir am’Kaji. Don’t care about any of that. Don’t care about anything. I loved you the moment you first began to sing to me, and I don’t think I’ll ever stop.”

The confusion left Amanvah’s aura, replaced with feelings so intimate Leesha felt ashamed for looking. She removed her warded spectacles, but even in her normal vision there were tears in the young priestess’ eyes as she and Rojer embraced.

Jessa watched them, and there was a moist gleam in her eyes as well. She turned away to give them privacy, stepping over to Wonda. “And you are?”

“Wonda Cutter, mistress,” Wonda said with a bow. The hair she wore over one side of her face to hide her scars waved with the motion.

The mistress lifted a hand. “May I?”

Wonda hesitated, but nodded. Jessa reached to brush the hair aside as tenderly as Rojer had Amanvah’s. She traced the scars with her fingers, and tsked.

“You could hide them better, child, with a bit of makeup,” Jessa said. “I can have one of my girls teach you how, free of charge.”

“Ay?” Wonda asked.

“Of course,” Jessa said. “But my advice? Stop hiding them. Be who you are.”

Wonda shook her head. “Ent no one wants to kiss a mess o’ scars.”

Jessa laughed. “Let me tell you a secret. For every ten men put off by your scars, one will dream of kissing you, just because you’re different. Stand tall, and the men will come to you. Women, too, if you’ve a taste for that.”

“I … Ah …” Wonda squirmed. Jessa gave another great laugh and let her off the hook.

She lifted Wonda’s hand, looking at the wards painted there. “Blackstem?”

“Ay,” Wonda said.

“A shame you did not bring this Warded Man everyone’s talking about. The girls all have bets on whether he’s tattooed his cock.”

She left Wonda to sputter at that, turning to Gared. “Ah, but this is nearly as good. The bachelor himself!” She reached out boldly to squeeze Gared’s biceps. “Sunny thing Jax brought you up here quickly. All the girls would be offering freebies, and no brothel can afford that.”

As if on cue, the curtain parted and a young woman entered, carrying a delicate tea service. Like the others downstairs, she was dressed in a full gown, but her shoulders were bare and her neckline low. The gown was slit high on one side, hidden by the ruffles of her skirt. Each time she stepped that leg forward, there was a momentary flash of thigh. She was tall, and had a bit of meat to her limbs—dancer’s muscle.

She smiled at Gared, giving him a little wink, and the Baron of Cutter’s Hollow, who faced rock demons without flinching, turned bright red.

Jessa snapped her fingers right next to Gared’s face, startling him back to attention. “But no, the Duchess Mum has plans for you, boy, and she wants you pent. All the girls know you’re off limits, even if they’re not happy about it.”

She looked at the girl. “Pour the tea and vanish, Rosal, before the duchess hears of it.” Rosal nodded, moving quickly to a side table and laying out the service.

Jessa winked at Gared. “Don’t be surprised if you see a few of my girls at the Bachelor’s Ball. Pick one as Ball Queen, and I can promise you a night to make your head spin. Marry her, and she’ll never say no.”

“Sure, Gared,” Leesha said. “That’s all a man needs in a wife.”

Jessa turned a sour look Leesha’s way, and everyone tensed. Rojer stepped up to Jessa. “May I introduce …”

“I know who she is,” Jessa said, never taking her eyes off Leesha. Rojer’s mouth snapped shut at her tone and he took a step back.

“Little Halfgrip’s lovely bride was raised to different customs,” Jessa said, “but I’d have expected a student of Bruna to know the way of things better.”

“And just what is that supposed to mean?” Leesha demanded.

“Rosal!” Jessa said. The girl set down the teapot immediately and moved to her side, eyes down.

“Quiz her,” Jessa said. “What does the wise Mistress Leesha believe are the requirements of the Baroness of Cutter’s Hollow?”

Leesha sensed the trap, but she had gone too far and now there was no way forward but to spring it quickly and hope to escape the jaws. She put her spectacles on, examining the girl’s aura. “How old are you, child?”

“I have twenty summers, mistress,” Rosal said.

“How long have you attended Mistress Jessa’s school?” Leesha asked.

“Since thirteen summers, mistress,” Rosal said.

“Have you worked in the brothel all that time?” Leesha asked.

There was a flare in the girl’s aura. Rosal was scandalized at the notion. “Of course not, mistress. No girl is allowed downstairs until her eighteenth summer. This is my second and final year. My graduation and debut will be in the spring.” Her eyes flicked to Gared. “Unless I find a husband at the ball.”

“Can you read?” Leesha asked. “Write?”

Rosal nodded. “Yes, mistress. In Krasian, Ruskan, and Albeen.”

“And Thesan, naturally,” Jessa said. “Rosal is quite the reader.”

“Poems?” Gared asked, the dread in his voice creeping into his aura.

Rosal squeezed her nose as if the notion stank. “War stories.”

“Military history,” Jessa corrected.

“If one wishes to be dull about it,” Rosal agreed. Her eyes never left the mistresses’, but her aura showed her attention was focused solely on impressing Gared. Every word, every pose, was for his benefit. It would have troubled Leesha, but so far as she could tell, the young woman gave honest word.

“Have you had training in mathematics?” Leesha asked.

“Yes, mistress,” Rosal said. “Arithmetic, algebra, and calculus. We have classes in bookkeeping and inventory, as well.”

“Herb lore?” Leesha asked.

“I can brew the seven cures from memory,” Rosal said. “For fertility, grind three …” Leesha waved her into silence, but not before her words had the intended effect on Gared’s aura.

“With books I can prepare others,” Rosal said. “We all study apothecary, in case men overindulge in powders or spirits while here.”

“Ay, but can she sing?” Rojer laughed, but all the warmth left Amanvah’s aura as she glared at him.

“Sorry,” Rojer said. Lower, he added, “Just trying to lighten the mood.”

The girl shook her head. “I have never sung well enough for Mistress Jessa, but I can play the harp and the organ.”

“What’s an organ?” Gared asked.

Rosal looked at him and winked. “I can show you mine, if—”

“That’s enough of that!” Jizell barked. “Off with you girl, before I fetch a stick!”

Leesha blinked. How many time had she heard Bruna bark those words? It was like hearing her mentor’s voice once more.

But as Jessa watched the girl go, there was no anger in her aura. She was proud of the girl’s performance. It was likely no accident that Jax sent Rosal and not some other girl up with the tea.

Gared’s eyes followed Rosal, and as she passed through the curtain she gave a tiny wave that sent a shiver through his aura.

Leesha turned back to Jessa, taking her skirt in hand and dipping a curtsy. “Apologies, mistress. I was unkind.”

“Accepted,” Jessa said at once. “Now, mistress, would you like to discuss the real reason you’re here?”

Mistress Jessa’s office was richly appointed with thick carpet and heavy goldwood furniture. There were hundreds of books on her shelves—rare volumes, many of which Leesha had never seen. She had to resist the urge to begin paging through them.

“You may borrow any one,” Jessa said, “so long as you return it in person before asking for another.”

Leesha looked at her in surprise, and Jessa smiled. “We started ill, but I want very much for us to be friends, Leesha. Bruna never taught a fool, and Araine thinks the world of you. I’ve never claimed I could read a person better than those two.”

She smiled. “And any woman that could hold Thamos’ attention for more than a night has got to be special.”

Leesha had been about to smile in turn, but the words chilled her. Jessa was elegant and beautiful, and the mistress of the royal brothel. Had she slept with Thamos? Had any of the girls downstairs? Night, he might have had them all.

Jessa set out a cup and saucer, filling them from a silver tea service that was worth a fortune in metal-poor Angiers.

“The royal brothers visit often,” Jessa noted. “Rhinebeck and Mickael—even Shepherd Pether has never hesitated to doff his robes here. You’d never know that some of my girls were boys.” Leesha took the cup, willing her hand not to shake.

“But Thamos …” Jessa went on. “Thamos came only once, and never again since. That one always preferred to hunt on his own.”

“And what does that make me?” Leesha asked. “Prey?”

“In love, both partners can be prey,” Jessa said. “That’s what makes it so delicious.”

“Did you try to steal the recipe for liquid demonfire from Bruna?” Leesha asked.

If Jessa was surprised at her bluntness, there was no sign of it on her aura.

“Ay, I did,” Jessa said. “The woman was almost ninety, and after the prince was born, she spoke only of returning to the Hollow. I knew I would never see her again, and feared the secret would die with her.”

“Bruna never spoke of you,” Leesha said. “Not once, in all my years with her.”

Jessa gave a pained smile. “Ay. None could hold a grudge like Hag Bruna. But I loved her, for my part, and regret we parted ill. When she died, was it … quick?”

Leesha stared into her cup. “I wasn’t there. It was a flux that took her. Vika begged her not to go among the sick, told her that she was too weak …”

“But nothing could keep Bruna from her children when they were in need,” Jessa said.

“Ay,” Leesha agreed.

“Tried once or twice over the years to patch things up with Jizell,” Jessa said. “Not as often as I should have, but I was proud, and there was only silence in reply.”

“Jizell can be stubborn as Bruna,” Leesha said.

“And her apprentice?” Jessa asked.

“I have greater concerns than a failed theft, thirty-five years ago,” Leesha said. “There need be no ill between us.”

“Liquid demonfire isn’t even the great power it once was,” Jessa said. “This desert whore magic makes demonfire seem like flamesticks, I’m told.”

“Hora magic,” Leesha corrected.

Jessa laughed. “That makes more sense! Though whore magic can change the course of duchies, as well.”

Leesha resisted the urge to stroke her belly, though Jessa no doubt knew her condition. “Indeed.”

“To business, then?” Jessa asked.

Leesha nodded. “What is your assessment of Rhinebeck’s condition?”

“He’s seedless,” Jessa said bluntly. “I’ve been saying it for twenty years, but Araine won’t hear it. She’s desperate for a cure that doesn’t exist.”

“What is your evidence for diagnosis?” Leesha asked.

“Apart from six wives over twenty years, none of them so much as stuttering her flow?” Jessa asked. “Not to mention my girls. Whatever the sand witch might say, I don’t give pomm tea to Rhinebeck’s favorites. Araine would have her son divorced and remarried in an instant if she thought it would secure his line. More than one graduated and proved so fertile her belly swelled just from sitting in a man’s lap and tickling his chin.”

It was nothing Leesha did not already know. “Is that all?”

“Of course not,” Jessa said. She produced a leather-bound ledger, handing it to Leesha, who immediately opened it and began paging through. The book listed all the tests Jessa had run, the herbs and cures she’d tried and the results, all inscribed with a neat hand using the meticulous methodology Bruna had taught.

“I’ve even had my girls stroke him into a glass so I could look at his seed in a lens chamber,” Jessa said. “He’s precious few tadpoles at all, and those swim in circles, bumping into each other like drunks at a reel.”

“I’d like a look myself,” Leesha said.

“To what end?” Jessa asked.

“There may be a blockage I can clear with surgery,” Leesha said.

Jessa shook her head. “Even if you had all the resources of the Age of Science, that’s delicate work, and assuming the duke will let you anywhere near his manhood with a knife.”

“Then I’ll resort to hora magic,” Leesha said. “I know a woman decades past her fertile years cured by it.”

“You think Rhinebeck will let you put a spell on him?” Jessa asked. “That’s asking for the hangman’s noose.”

“We’ll see,” Leesha said. “But for now, I’d just like to see his seed. Could you … ?”

“Acquire some for you?” Jessa laughed. “Of course. But you could get it yourself if you wished. Pregnant or not, Rhinebeck wouldn’t hesitate if given the chance to cuckold his brother.”

“That’s not going to happen,” Leesha said.

“You wouldn’t even need to lie with him,” Jessa said. “My girls have given him a taste for a woman’s hand. Won’t take you but a minute.”

Leesha breathed deeply, burying her revulsion at the thought. “Will you get it for me, or shall I ask the duchess?”

Jessa saw she had pressed too far. “I’ll have it sent to your chambers on ice as soon as I can procure it. Tonight, perhaps.”